


good men

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Community: trope_bingo, Declarations Of Love, Forced Marriage, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is forced into a marriage of convenience, for the social and financial security of his family. He doesn't take it well. Neither does Courfeyrac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good men

She's beautiful in her white dress, dark curls all pinned up into a bun. Her hand is small in his, her skin pale as porcelain. Her lips are a light pink, curved into a gentle smile for him. She doesn't love him.

Combeferre smiles back. He doesn't mind. He doesn't love her either.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear Courfeyrac suck in a shaky breath. Nobody else seems to notice, but Combeferre doesn't mind that either. He's especially attuned to Courfeyrac; he always has been, and always will be. He keeps his eyes forward, listening to the priest, saying his vows, focusing on the way this union will solve his family's financial problems. This is for his mother, his father, his sister.

He tries to think of that and nothing else, as he breathes in time with Courfeyrac.

 

After the ceremony, Combeferre wears his brightest smile, trying to keep his eyes from constantly wandering over to where Grantaire is standing with Courfeyrac, both of them with drinks in their hands. They say misery loves company, but Grantaire's expression is sombre, like the fact that he can understand Courfeyrac's pain only multiplies his own, and there's only so long Combeferre can watch them as they stand to the side, heads bowed as they speak quietly.

Enjolras can sense that there is something wrong, but he cannot seem to understand what it is. He congratulates the new couple with a warm smile, and Combeferre doesn't know how to respond to the probing look he is given. He doesn't know how to begin explaining the fact that he's been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, that in the quiet evenings with skin against skin, lips against lips, they'd been naive enough to think that this was something they would have forever.

So instead, Combeferre smiles. Because that is all he can do. 

 

His wife is patient with him. She gives him space when he needs it, and she is more than happy to spend time with her friends when Combeferre goes to the Café Musain. With her dark eyes and dark hair, it is sometimes difficult for Combeferre to call her by her name, and not _Courfeyrac_. Soon, he gives up entirely, calling her _my love_. Half of what he says to her isn't addressed to her at all.

He wonders if she knows.

He wonders if she realises that it's Courfeyrac that he aches for with his entire being. Courfeyrac, who has politely declined every invitation to come for dinner, for coffee, for any space of time that he has to spend in their joined presence.

Courfeyrac, who increasingly spends his time with Grantaire, with a bottle in his hand and wine on his breath.

Courfeyrac, who will sometimes sit on the old, sagging couch with Combeferre, their sides pressed together the way they used to sit before. Their heads lean against each other out of habit. Combeferre wants to reach for Courfeyrac's hand, but that is a line he can no longer cross. Just as he cannot press their foreheads together, or kiss Courfeyrac until he stops tasting of wine and tastes like _himself_ , the taste that Combeferre sometimes craves, so desperately that he cannot sleep at night.

They're good men. They have their boundaries.

Sometimes, it's frustratingly difficult to be good.

 

They're sitting beside each other, as close as possible without actually being entwined, when they see it.

It's subtle; Enjolras trails his fingers along Grantaire's arm, down to his hand, his lips curved into a gentle smile. Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac know exactly what it means.

Courfeyrac gets to his feet, walking away before Combeferre can stop him. It gains a few of their friends' attention, but Combeferre doesn't stop to explain before getting up and following. He finds Courfeyrac downstairs, by the back door.

His hand is balled into a fist and he has it pressed to his forehead, his eyes shut, shoulders trembling. He tenses as Combeferre places a hand on his shoulder, then relaxes slightly.

"I should be happy for them," Courfeyrac says quietly. " _Especially_ R, but…"

"I know." Combeferre wants to step closer, to pull Courfeyrac into his arms, but stays where he is. "I know. I'm trying not to hate them, too."

"It was just… easier when R was there too. At least then, I wasn't the only one all alone."

Combeferre does step closer this time, wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac, who clings to him in return. They stand there like that, breathing each other in, feeling each other's warmth, and by the time they hear the footsteps coming down the stairs, it's too late to pull away.

"I think I saw them going this way—" It's Enjolras, who stops short upon seeing them.

"I told you to _wait_ ," Grantaire says, right behind him. He gives them both an apologetic look. "Come on, let's go."

"Wait." Enjolras frowns at them both. "You two…?"

Courfeyrac gives him a noncommittal shrug in reply.

Enjolras' eyes narrow, his mind clearly processing this. "For how long?"

"A long time," Courfeyrac replies, at the same time Combeferre says, "Years."

"Then why did you get married to somebody else?"

Grantaire sighs with frustration. Combeferre looks at him, because it's easier than looking at Enjolras, and because he can't look at Courfeyrac when he says, "My family needed the social and financial security."

"And you," Enjolras asks, turning to Courfeyrac. "How could you let him go?"

Courfeyrac shrugs again, talking half a step away from Combeferre to get some space between them. "Because I love him."

Combeferre can hear his own sharp intake of breath, feeling the words like a punch to the gut.

"Apollo," Grantaire says, more urgently this time. He tugs on Enjolras' arm. "Come on."

Enjolras goes, but not without giving them another incredulous look. Combeferre waits until they're completely out of sight before he turns to Courfeyrac.

"I love you," Courfeyrac repeats, chin tilted up with defiance. For all these years, neither of them have been brave enough to utter the words. Courfeyrac says them now with the conviction of a man with nothing to lose. "I always have."

"Courfeyrac…"

"So," Courfeyrac gives him a feeble smile. "Does this make things better or worse?"

_Worse_ , Combeferre thinks. Better. Both. He says, "I love you. With all I have."

Courfeyrac smiles at that. He rocks on the balls of his feet, the way he does when Combeferre has long since learned to interpret as a request for a kiss. He stands still as soon as he realises what he's doing.

"At least we have that," Combeferre says, knowing that it won't be enough, that it's nowhere _close_ to being enough.

"Yes." Courfeyrac takes Combeferre's hand, squeezing it gently before letting go. "I suppose we do."


End file.
